


Don't Forget to Kiss

by sexonastick



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creative Differences, F/F, Simmering Resentment, Theoretically Unhealthy Work Environments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barden Branding has a lot of what it takes. There's an alliteration, first of all. Leaders with clear vision and an enthusiastic work force. </p>
<p>They would easily be the most successful marketing firm in Atlanta, Georgia.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, this is New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Thick. So Rich. And Still Just as Sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by [this gif set](http://fyeahbecachloe.tumblr.com/post/49852115645/au-beca-mitchell-is-not-happy-with-the-new), this sort of diverged off into its own thing.
> 
> Thanks to [intersects](http://archiveofourown.org/users/intersects) and [lescousinsdangereux](http://www.fanfiction.net/~lescousinsdangereux) for encouragement and a somewhat critical eye. You're the Chloe to my Beca, but with unfortunately far less sexual tension. (Or is there?)

*

They didn't really go out for drinks. That would have had to be premeditated. 

The bar is two blocks away from the office and not too crowded. These things happen.

Beca offers to buy the second round, but Chloe picks up the two that follow after. She signs Beca's invoices, after all. She _knows_ how little she makes, and the mixed drinks here are expensive. (It's New York. Everything's expensive.)

They don't go home together that night.

\--

Two weeks later, it happens again. Same bar, even later into the evening.

Chloe offers to share a cab and keeps insisting once Beca tries to decline.

"I live in Brooklyn," Beca objects, really unnecessarily.

Chloe signs her invoices, after all. She _knows_ where the other woman lives.

\--

They don't go to Beca's apartment.

Chloe's place in SoHo is huge for its location. The bed is probably massive compared to what Beca's used to. There's plenty of room.

But somehow she ends up sleeping pressed against the smaller girl's back -- how often does _that_ get to happen -- with one hand snug against Beca's left breast.

\--

This probably shouldn't have happened.

\--

Especially the next morning. That _definitely_ shouldn't have happened.

They're both sober by now, so there's no excuse and no good explanation for why Beca's tongue finds its way into Chloe's mouth.

They're talking about kinds of syrup -- Beca's a fan of Trader Joe's, no surprise, but Chloe's more of a classic Butterworth's girl -- when suddenly Beca's hand is curling in Chloe's hair and their mouths are pressed together.

And the first (utterly absurd) thought to pop into Chloe's head is: _she must really like waffles._

\--

After ten minutes of what you might actually call _aggressive_ making out -- who knew little Beca Mitchell was a biter? -- Chloe decides it's a good idea to eat breakfast somewhere else.

Someplace public where they'll be obliged to keep their hands to themselves.

\--

It's not a date. 

It's oatmeal, turkey bacon, and hash browns.

For Chloe, that is.

Beca orders blueberry waffles and sips a latte with so much foam it's basically a cappuccino, but the distinction might be lost on her at six am.

Oh, christ.

Chloe's in a diner having (foamy) coffee with a subordinate at six am. This was absolutely a terrible idea.

But the oatmeal is pretty good.

\--

Correction: the oatmeal is fantastic, but the look Beca gives her when Chloe offers to pay is less than.

"This isn't--"

"I make a lot more than you, Beca. It's no big deal."

Except that apparently now it is, if that wounded look on Beca's face is anything to go by.

This is why you don't date subordinates. They have a talent for finding criticism in _every_ comment that isn't overt praise.

Or maybe Chloe isn't a morning person and could have handled this a bit more gracefully at something closer to 10am. "I just mean that I know how hard you work. Let me treat you, okay?" And then, just so they're _crystal clear_ , she repeats, "It's not a big deal."

Not a big deal and _still_ not a date.

\--

Not a date, but still a terrible idea.

\--

Chloe signs her invoices, after all.

And there's that whole company policy about dating coworkers.

The one that says in big block letters DON'T FUCKING DO IT.

Chloe should know; she helped Aubrey hang the sign.

Metaphorically speaking.

Although if Aubrey had her way, there would probably be an _actual sign_.


	2. Lost Type

*

This isn't the worst job Beca's ever had. Not even close.

She used to wait tables at a place down in the village. NYU students are mostly assholes and bad tippers, so that was obviously a blast. 

That was after the summer spent shelving CDs at a store close to collapse well into iTunes' reign of digitally distributed terror. It could have been a decent, slack off kind of job if the shop owner hadn't insisted that she spend the whole day on her feet, patrolling and rearranging each section several times, even though no customers ever appeared to get them out of order.

Waitressing came after the CD store but before janitorial duties on campus as part of the work-study program. Apparently all the jobs that weren't horrifically demeaning were taken by the early risers who signed up ahead of her.

The point is that business opportunities for a mouthy brunette with a bad attitude and _fuck-off_ piercings have been limited outside the creative fields. Discovering the world of advertising had been a bit of a revelation.

Even if Bumper likes to make jokes about how she _clearly_ has no idea how to represent a product if she can't make a good first impression herself.

\--

Statement of the obvious: Bumper is an asshole.

\--

This obviously isn't the worst job, but it's fast approaching that point.

\--

Bumper alone was bad enough. The kind of entitled asshole who doesn't know how to share credit (or a cab) yet somehow ends up on top out of sheer dumb luck.

Or daddy's money.

He's the worst, but at least that left him with plenty of room for appreciating Beca's ability. He didn't have to acknowledge her contributions to the outside world, and he didn't have to pay her the standard rate. Just as long as it all paid off in the end. That had been the general idea.

Every creative field is about paying your dues and making friends. Do enough favors and you earn a reputation for being reliable.

Also apparently gullible.

\--

It's 10:30 in the morning, which is way too early for Amy's detailed (highly vivid) account of her late night exploits with an unnamed man.

(It's been a long-standing rumor around the office that Amy and Bumper are involved in some kind of on-again off-again actual cluster fuck, which would at least explain her continued presence in an office where Beca has never actually seen her working.)

The possible identity of the mysterious male companion isn't helping Beca keep her breakfast down.

\--

The elevator dings and Bumper steps out, followed by two incredibly restrained and composed women. Clients, maybe. Which isn't actually a great thought, given the look on the taller blonde's face. Hard to please, easily pissed.

The other woman looks (almost) approachable, if a little overly concerned with appearing in control. Her hair is pulled back in a bun so tight, Beca wouldn't be surprised if it was assisting in her current eyebrow raise of appraisal.

Neither woman is especially old. They've probably only got a few years on Beca at most.

That's why what comes next sucks so hard.

\--

Well, okay.

It probably would have sucked anyway.

\--

The problem with quietly paying your dues, accepting little credit, is that eventually _everyone_ will end up on that list of people who under-appreciate you.

Consider this Beca's first really valuable lesson in a couple years about how fucked the world is.

\--

Blonde Number One -- she of the extra tight ass and no humor whatsoever -- is apparently named Aubrey, and she's the new head of accounts.

At least the job seems to suit her. The money people are usually appropriately soulless and out of touch with creative.

That's Beca.

In fact, until recently it was like eighty percent Beca's output and ideas moving this company forward.

Enter Blonde Number Two: Chloe Beale.

\--

"Don't think of me as your boss," Chloe says on her first day -- right after Bumper has introduced the two of them as new co-owners of the company -- and her smile is so radiant, it's almost like she's sincere.

Beca is really proud of herself for not rolling her eyes.

"We're a team now, and I find it's helpful to think of things that way."

Seriously. 

The composure of a _saint_. Almost unblinking.

\--

The thing about every team is there's still always a captain.

\--

Chloe's smiles are bright and shiny like her eyes, but tense at the edges. Strained like the effort's exhausting.

Relatable in a way that's a little infuriating.

But no amount of sympathy can keep Beca from objecting to the (numerous) terrible ideas that are suddenly a regular part of the strategy.

Maybe the reason Chloe Beale is so exhausted is she's over-extended herself on social media. 

Morning meetings are suddenly filled with buzz words about tracking hash tags and finding desperate interns to make inroads with niche online communities.

If Beca never hears the words "tumblr tags" again, it'll still be too soon.

\--

The only positive take away from any given meeting -- scheduled to be sixty minutes, but frequently extended well into ninety -- is usually that the buzz words actually sound convincing coming out of Chloe's mouth.

But give it another half an hour, and Beca's back to being convinced they're all utter bullshit.

\--

There was actually _one_ particularly unsettling morning in week three when she left the morning meeting -- unusually short, closer to forty minutes than a full hour -- and felt inspired.

It went away again by the early afternoon.

The next day, Beca redoubled her efforts at showing her overt disapproval.

\--

It sort of backfired.

\--

"Beca, I am really _so_ glad that you feel this confident sharing your thoughts and ideas with us, and I want to encourage dialogue and discussion," Chloe says carefully, allowing for a pause that makes it pretty clear that there is a _but_ to follow. "But--"

And there it is.

"-- your disapproval has been thoroughly noted." Another pause, and Beca could _almost swear_ that Chloe has the nerve to _smirk_ at her. (Infuriating. Relatable. Unforgivable.) "And I really think that we're at the point where it's counter productive to continue discussing a change in approach, at least for the time being."

If Beca had a friend like Aubrey, she could probably provide her own handful of charts (possibly even graphs) to illustrate clearly just how much of a colossal waste of time it is to sit around and listen to a blow-by-blow analysis of Amy's exploits on the internet.

But that shouldn't even be necessary.

Beca has _three_ mock-ups she needs to finish by end of day, and just about anyone -- _especially_ the woman who assigned her work load -- should be able to see that she has more important things to do.

Except apparently not.

And all that's left is to glare.

\--

Another upside: at least _now_ Beca knows what Amy actually does here.

(Knows it in excruciating, excessive detail.)

\--

So maybe Beca's gotten kind of used to getting her way around the office. That's on Bumper, really. He exploited her just long enough to raise the value on this dumb, nothing company just so he could sell it off to the highest bidder.

Which, judging by their ages, couldn't have been _that_ high.

Worst of all -- on a sliding scale of things that are all incredibly shit -- is he still hangs around the office. He's a partner almost exclusively in name now, but he takes it upon himself to swing by around noon and peer over everyone's shoulder like he expects to catch them watching porn on the company dime.

It's really, really tempting, as a final farewell fuck you.

\-- 

If rent wasn't due next week, she completely would.

\--

In the meantime, Beca keeps a recently vandalized photo of him taped to the bottom of her desk drawer.

It's not the same as flipping over her desk and flipping everyone off on the way to the elevator.

But it's a start.

\--

Donald is better than Bumper overall -- despite them apparently being best friends -- but that's like saying that a lazy, yowling cat that lies on your keyboard and generally gets in the way is better than the ebola virus.

(Which is probably an unfair comparison for deadly bacteria.)

He's tech, which means he codes just slightly better (and a lot slower) than Beca and defaults to the support guy where apparently tech support amounts to installing printer drivers and passwords when Beca's on a crunch.

While typing as slow as humanly possible.

"Are you going to be done sometime…" She glances at the clock on her Macbook. Thirty-six minutes have passed since he sat down. "Maybe this millennia?" 

Without looking up, he smirks. "Just filling the day, Beca."

"Yeah, but see: I already have a _lot_ of things to do today. My day is full." He's still not moving any faster, so she adds: "Of things that have to be finished before I can go home."

If his fingers have picked up speed at all, she certainly can't tell.

"So why don't you go fill the day, I dunno, on Aubrey's laptop instead?"

Donald snorts. "Then she'd know how little work I'm doing." The look he gives Beca is both skeptical and disdainful. "No thanks…"

\--

It's another late night, and Aubrey stops by Beca's desk on her way out the door. "No overtime today, okay? This wasn't a big workload."

She says it like she's so _sorry_ that the (bristling) brunette _worm_ in front of her has forced Aubrey to be so condescending. 

Even her sigh is resigned, like it's the last thing in the world she wants to do when she adds, "You really should have had it done during regular work hours, Beca. I expect more from you tomorrow."

Chloe is completely silent beside her. Not a word of encouragement or disagreement.

And if the look she shoots back at Beca while heading for the door could maybe be read as one of sympathy, that only makes it worse.

Fuck her.

\--

Fuck both of them.

And fuck Bumper and this entire stupid company.

\--

But fuck the rent and her currently unemployed roommate most of all.

\--

Beca does an okay job of avoiding _everyone_ \-- outside of obligatory meetings, of course -- for the next few days, and as a result actually manages to leave work before the sun has set during some of the longest days of the year.

Hooray.

\--

"You're home early!" Stacie chirps from her place on the sofa.

Watching Friends reruns doesn't look a whole lot like job hunting to Beca, but she refrains from saying so. 

Instead, she checks her cell phone. "… it's 7:30."

"Yep," her roommate confirms. "Early."

"For me, you mean."

"For you."

Beca knows her hours suck, but hearing it said aloud is always a little depressing.

"The food's probably still warm," Stacie adds, peeking up from her place slumped against an armrest. "That's exciting, right!" 

Somehow even her questions sound like they have exclamation marks.

"… sure."

Adjusting her laptop satchel across her shoulder, Beca retreats to her bedroom with her (still warm) plate of noodles and something that looks a lot like beef.

Okay, so neither of them are great cooks. But Stacie can mix a pretty decent cocktail.

Maybe she should consider getting her bartending license.

So she could pay her half of the fucking rent.

\--

It's a record three days straight of getting home at a decent hour, so obviously something has to fuck up on day four.

But does _everything_ have to?

First Donald is pissed because she emails him notes for a new website layout he's coding for her and includes a few lines of css, just to be helpful and _specific_.

He writes back immediately, typing so hard she can hear his anger coming in loud and clear from the other side of the room even before he hits send.

_Are you trying to make me part time?_

And then another one, directly after: _Don't forget, I've seen your search history._

Wait.

Did he seriously just _threaten her_?

Beca tries to think back over the past month of googling and whether or not she cleared out her browser after _every_ time she looked up porn. Which, you know. More than a few times. (What can she say, it's been a rough month -- okay, _year_ \-- for her dating life, but blame that on _this place_.) She's pretty sure she cleared out her cookies and put private search on each time.

Like, _really_ pretty sure.

But somehow she _really_ thinks Aubrey would be the type to disapprove of pornography. Almost certainly thinks it's degrading to women -- even on those couple of occasions where the videos Beca looks up _only_ feature women -- so it's probably best to play it safe.

Even if getting fired for porn had sounded almost appealing not so long ago.

 _My bad._ she writes back fast. _Just trying to help! :)_

It actually physically _pains_ her to type the smiley face.

Which means it's literally bordering on torture when she adds another two more before hitting send.

\--

Donald never writes back, so at least there's that.

\-- 

He also takes about twice as long as necessary to complete the coding, but it doesn't matter when Beca's day gets slammed (hard) around noon by a completely different project. One of their new clients wants to pitch something first thing Saturday morning.

It's Friday afternoon, and apparently this is going to be a really late night for all involved.

Which would appear to mostly mean Beca.

\--

It's one of those days.

\-- 

_where are u?_ comes a text from Stacie at 7:51pm, which is really overly optimistic of her.

 _Sorry_ , Beca writes back. _Work._

That's basically all the explanation required at this point.

In fact the series of frowny faces and emoticons of alcohol that Stacie sends back is so immediate, Beca would have to assume she had it already typed up and ready to go.

It doesn't improve her mood.

Which doesn't really help the speed at which she _struggles_ to create something she doesn't absolutely hate using all the disparate iconography the client requested along with their especially tacky font.

\--

Not that her mood or productivity could be much _worse_.

She's starting to get the impression, based on their emailed notes, that Beca is going to have to sacrifice personal integrity and just hand over the soulless, ineffectual crap they so obviously want so she can call it a night.

\--

 _Boring, zzzzz._

That's in response to Beca's use of Helvetica. 

Seriously.

Gritting her teeth, she goes back to the original email from the client to download and install a font apparently titled _Godeo Rodeo_.

Consider this official surrender. 

\--

Beca hits the door to the bar with her shoulder, like it's responsible for all her frustrations. (It's a bad idea. Her small frame was _not_ made to be used as a battering ram.) 

She needs a drink (maybe three) and possibly someone cute to complain to about--

"Beca!"

Her boss.

\--

"... the fuck?"

Judging by the look on Chloe's face, that must have come out aloud. Oops.

It's just surprising. The bar's not exactly a dive, but it's also not the kind of place she'd expect an uptight asshole to hang out.

Except that, actually, the look on Chloe's face isn't exactly offended so much as surprised and maybe kind of amused. So that's new. (Surprising, even.) 

"Sit down," Chloe says, mouth twisting into an unreadable expression. "I'll buy you a drink."

"… excuse me?"

Maybe asshole Chloe only exists before sunset. Reverse Gremlins thing.

"Sit," Chloe says again, like she's simplifying, when it's clearly just the opposite.

This is the most complicated Chloe Beale has ever been. 

"Drink."

But Beca listens.

She's not sure why.

Maybe because the drinks are free, and the company owes her.

Maybe because she's got nowhere else to be.

Or it could be the way that Chloe's smile doesn't actually piss her off when it's directed right at her.

Maybe that.


	3. OmniFocus

*

Working alongside someone like Bumper Allen is like trying to do deep breathing exercises through a straw or climbing a mountain with only mittens on. 

Except one of those is much more of an apt description than the other, because Aubrey finds herself having to work _a lot_ on breathing technique whenever she's around Bumper.

It's a good thing really that he almost never shows up to work, and Aubrey had _never_ thought she would feel that way about anyone, especially a fellow employee.

\--

Note: Bumper hardly qualifies as an employee any longer in anything other than title. His greatest contribution to the company has been his father's name next to the logo and his own checkbook.

The rest of the time, she'd prefer he shut it.

\--

Still, it can be strenuous, having to be so tolerant. Aubrey has worked long and hard to perfect a certain vibrancy that the constant friction with people like Bumper Allen tries to make dimmer.

She considers herself capable of a highly evolved level of social interaction while still maintaining the appropriate decorum and distance within the workplace. Aubrey has never approved of excessively intimate relationships between co-workers; those kind of emotional entanglements are a liability when accurately assessing employee performance.

Sure, she's best friends for life -- and theoretically whatever comes after, which are the kind of late night conversations you sometimes have while applying nail polish at nineteen -- with Chloe Beale, but that's hardly the same thing. 

They met at Yale. 

Back then Aubrey was young and not-yet-fun enough to realize that you shouldn't always judge your peers by their appearance, so the process of their maturing friendship had been a slow one. 

Bonds forged in the fiery heat of adversity are oftentimes the strongest. 

Someone like Chloe might _appear_ flighty (perhaps even simple), but clearly that was not the case. Her grades were outstanding, almost worthy of envy.

(Being the mature and adult person she obviously is, Aubrey can now admit that she may have felt envy toward Chloe before their friendship had fully taken root. It was only natural really. She would have been foolish not to!)

Not that it matters now, when she'd gladly take a bullet for Chloe. 

Metaphorically or economically speaking. Neither of them have the appropriate temperament or body type for law enforcement, clearly, and they aren't really the type to go rushing into burning buildings.

The point is that friendships built outside the workplace can be fundamental to future happiness. Aubrey understands that. 

But _inside_ of an office building, she must insist on maintaining a level of professional detachment.

\--

This is why Beca Mitchell is an enormous problem. She takes detachment in entirely the wrong direction. She sneers and smirks over every discussion, while still maintaining some kind of hyper intense immature emotional connection to her little doodles and drawings.

Like she doesn't understand that this is a _business_ , and maybe that fact has actually escaped her entirely.

That would at least explain some of the nonsense that escapes her mouth.

She repeatedly says things like "my work here," like any given assignment is actually about her (instead of the client), and tosses out words like "integrity."

Aubrey has to laugh. 

Really, she scoffs, and she has worked _hard_ not to encourage too much humor and tomfoolery in the workplace. But Mitchell is just too much! 

It's absurd.

"Chloe, back me up on this," Aubrey starts in with another light scoff. If she's going to set some kind of precedent for humor within these walls, it should only come at someone like Mitchell's expense. Laughter reserved only for the sake of correction. She smiles. "I must not be hearing correctly. Miss Mitchell, did you just tell me _no_?"

The little miscreant is actually turning red. 

Presumably it's some kind of impotent childish rage boiling just beneath the surface, but it makes her face look splotchy and ridiculous. Like one of her silly cartoons.

"No, I--"

"You're doing it again." 

Beca huffs through her nose -- like someone who knows literally _nothing_ about proper breathing -- and very blatantly grits her teeth. At her superior! Then she sends some kind of dopey plaintive look at Chloe. 

Of all people, she expects help from Chloe Beale.

Except that Chloe is using that smile she only breaks out when she's working hard at humoring someone, and that someone appears to be Beca. "Maybe there's a compromise here."

To think that she, Aubrey Posen, should have to haggle with one of their employees. 

Like an equal.

It would set a terrible precedent.

"No, I don't think so," Aubrey says, very coldly, holding her shoulders erect. If there's one way in which she will always be superior to Beca Mitchell -- though _of course_ there are _many_ \-- it's in her perfect posture. "You have until tomorrow. Contact one of your superiors if there are any further questions."

\--

With Beca, there are _always_ questions. 

She's constantly in Chloe's ear, making suggestions that nobody asked for. (Chloe is just far too kind and generous with her time to make it clear to Beca that there are actually occasions when her voice is unwanted.) It's clear that Beca thinks she's one of those people whose ideas are always interesting and new.

But whatever Beca might think, she isn't unique. 

Though Mitchell clearly toils under the same special little snowflake misconception a lot of creatives are inclined toward, she is just like everyone else on staff tasked with tossing ideas at the wall in the hopes that one will stick. 

You know, the kind of people with no skill set whatsoever applicable to almost _anything_ outside of this.

Desperate people who have somehow convinced themselves that they are the heart of a company like Barden Branding. That without them, the place would actually fall apart.

That people like Aubrey contribute nothing you couldn't manage with a calculator.

Delusional and misguided, all of them.

Mitchell isn't anything special. 

She's the exact same type of idiot as everyone else.

\-- 

They have _no idea_ how much Aubrey contributes.

The creatives only have to find one answer that the client will love, but Aubrey has to devise the very questions themselves. She controls the entire landscape. She's a god damn conductor of her own orchestra of subterfuge and ass kissing, and the only one to appreciate or even understand her efforts is Chloe.

Certainly Amy will sometimes talk as if she cares about what Aubrey is up to, but it's become fairly obvious that these are only her own attempts to progress through liberal lubrication.

These are the kinds of techniques that Aubrey recognizes right away. She ought to, since she employees so many of them.

She takes clients out for dinners at their favorite restaurants. Keeps track of every dumb story about their kids and remembers the name of the dog. She helps reach the answers that they'll like, but more importantly reminds them to always continue asking the questions that keep her people working away.

She always defers, even when clients are being loud-mouthed idiots. 

Especially then.

The customer is _always_ right, however much creative might disagree.

(Creative often disagrees.) 

It's Aubrey's job to keep everyone happy. 

Everyone who isn't under her employ, that is.

She isn't paid enough to keep all of _them_ happy, and it's not as if you ever _could_. The creative type is apparently fueled by angst and bad attitudes. 

Beca Mitchell is precisely the opposite of special. She's an off-brand ripoff of her own gimmick.

The 90's called and they don't even want their own stereotype back. Bury it in the back yard with your acid washed jeans and tie-dye, thanks, and try to find a better work ethic while you're down there. 

Aubrey is pretty sure there's a solid point to be made about how responsible employees who show up, do their job, and don't complain are literally a thing of the past, only likely to be found in crypts or within the moral compasses of people like Aubrey Posen herself. 

But really, what's the point?

\-- 

Zachary Bonadero has been a client for four months, and in that time he has threatened to fire them at least seven times.

He has left voicemails on Aubrey's personal cell phone at 2am on a Saturday praising her dedication and work ethic only to follow it up on Monday with a strongly worded email -- written all in caps, of course -- questioning their commitment to his product.

He makes shoes.

That's it. That's what he does.

He doesn't even make them. The product itself is disposable and unreliable -- poorly crafted a million miles away from Mr. Bonadero's home -- but that's entirely besides the point.

It's their job to make him something _more_. Iconic.

Which is why she tolerates the ego and the insipid bullshit. The swelling of his head is proof that they've been doing their job right.

If he's recognized, that's a good thing. If he's more unbearable than he was a month ago, soon they'll be able to charge more.

It's worth it.

\--

"This can't be worth it," Beca says, because she obviously doesn't have a head for numbers and also has no idea how to keep her mouth simply shut. Two very basic skills to make due without, the lack of which will always place her firmly in a non-managerial role, despite Mitchell's clear belief that she should be handed more responsibility. "The guy's a psychopath. He _loved_ that design yesterday."

"Noted, Mitchell." Aubrey likes to use employee's last names at general meetings in front of the entire staff. It creates a sense of impersonal distance that is more befitting the hierarchy of the work place. "I understand that you are _very_ attached to your work, but you have to understand--"

"But the client really isn't right in this case, and he is _not_ the public, so I think--"

" _Beca_."

Chloe interjects with a little shake of her head, and it's almost infuriating that it gets the little shit to actually stop. 

Aubrey isn't sure why it annoys her. Silence is what she'd wanted.

And yet.

"… as I was saying, the important thing here is to deliver what our client wants now, and then we deal with the fallout later." She beams out at everyone gathered around the conference table. All of them. So many people, yet only one of them feels the need to speak out of turn. 

Noted. 

As usual.

"We all know Mr. Bonadero is…" Aubrey hesitates, tapping her pen against her notes like she's drumming up inspiration. It helps her to set a steady tone while thinking. Keeps passions from running too high. "Indecisive." 

There. That's the nice way to say it.

She can see Mitchell nearly bursting to speak up, and for a moment Aubrey is tempted to let her. 

Give her the chance to hang herself for once.

It'd be such a relief to have the excuse to (finally) fire her.

But this is going to be a tough week, and she has to admit that they need all the help they can get. 

Mitchell can be a fast worker, when she isn't distracted by complaints. 

(Which is seldom. There are almost _always_ complaints.)

"He'll come around again, but in the meantime we have 48 hours to deliver." For the first time, there are murmurs of dissent and discontent coming from people other than Mitchell. Aubrey allows them the twenty-seven seconds she assumes they will need to fully express their displeasure before sharply clearing her throat. "… and we _will_ deliver, as per our very lucrative contract."

She smiles again.

Showing teeth is a sign of dominance often mistaken for submission.

"Thank you," she says, already rising. "You're all dismissed."


	4. The Effect of Expectations

*

The sex was a mistake.

It was good, don't get her wrong. That's not the problem. 

If anything, it only exacerbates things. Because Chloe wants to do it again. 

Despite everything she knows about herself -- and Beca, where the knowledge is just limited enough that _that_ should be a warning sign all on its own -- she still wants to do it again.

Not counting the three times it happened that first night. 

\-- 

(Or, would you call it the second night? Because the very first night that Beca came home with her, there wasn't any sex. Just what you might call cuddling, perhaps -- an even _worse_ idea really -- and kisses the next morning.)

\-- 

But the next time they drink together, it only takes a small buzz tingling all the way through Chloe's limbs to get her holding a cab door open for one Beca Mitchell.

Beca Mitchell with her tan leather and slow saunter dragging out even longer now that she's tipsy, trying to look smug but unable to hide the pleased little quirk to her grin as she slips past Chloe, lingering only long enough to _brush_ against her when moving by.

Don't think you're subtle, Mitchell. 

Chloe Beale knows _all_ the little tricks.

\--

And Beca learns that soon enough.

Her toes curling, heel digging into the curved arch of Chloe's shoulder as she nips a steady path along Beca Mitchell's inner thigh.

Whispers a murmured question about color contrast against pale skin and snickers at the way it makes the younger girl actually tremble hard enough that her hips move.

Just a small jerk upward before settling back into the mattress. 

"Wow," Chloe breathes out, feeling Beca's thighs twitch with every exhalation of laughter and loving every second of it. "Someone's really eager, huh?" 

\-- 

Beca's legs wrapped around her shoulders. Beca's hands in her hair, dragging her mouth back when she starts to pull away. 

Lips swollen, hips bruising and her hand braced against the mattress.

Beca's breasts pressed into the sheets, her spine arching. Chloe's mouth on her ear, her jaw, her throat. Whispering sweetly, "You are going to _owe_ me big time, Mitchell."

They talked about butterworth's that first morning, right before they had kissed and tasted want on one another's tongues.

Sweet things and sticky messes. 

\-- 

Beca licks a notch in Chloe's spine and lays deft fingers on either hip. 

"I think I'm going to enjoy owing you interest." Her voice is round and soft and slow, but it isn't the alcohol. 

Sex as a sedative.

But her nipples are firm and her belly feels taut as she arches into Chloe's back, settling into her shoulder as she slips inside and they both groan. 

So does the bed.

\--

The sex leaves her feeling exhausted with satisfaction.

Slow and limp, strung out with contentment. Her fingers drift through Beca's hair, tangling gently. It's intended to be soothing when she traces a line along the back of Mitchell's ear. 

Listens to her breathing slowly evening out. 

Falls asleep with Beca's lips curling into a smirk against the palm of her hand.

\--

The next morning, they have breakfast inside Chloe's apartment.

This isn't a date, even if it's a disaster. 

She pours orange juice and thinks about the things that Aubrey would say if she saw her now, like this. 

Oatmeal and banana. Healthy and balanced. 

In control.

Tries not to think about the reason she isn't going on her usual morning jog today, though it's hard when that reason is standing right beside her eating pancakes. 

Syrup slick against her lips.

Their thighs briefly press together as both lean against the counter, but Chloe moves to check something in the refrigerator and doesn't return to that side of the kitchen.

Control.

\-- 

The sex was an awful idea.

Made only worse by how much she wants it again every time she sees Mitchell at the office. 

The steady typing at the keyboard and how she twirls her pen between her fingers. The hair that falls down in front of her face, but especially the strands that frame her jaw.

Contrast.

\--

It makes her want to leave bruises. 

(More bruises. There are already marks on the juncture where Beca Mitchell's thigh meets hip, but it's hard to qualify what you cannot see.)

Chloe doesn't really know where the impulse comes from. She's usually such a considerate and almost gentle lover.

(Usually.)

But Beca, with her twisting smirks and sharp angles that fold up into something so much smaller in bed. Compliant but never complacent. 

Chloe kind of wants to make her scream until her throat is raw.

\--

"Un-fucking-believable." 

Beca doesn't scream when she's angry with Aubrey or a client -- sometimes (often) it's a mixture of resentment aimed at both -- but she does swear a lot, simmering and scowling.

"You know," Chloe says, wanting to brush the hair back behind Beca's ear. Push it out of her eyes. "It's not healthy to keep all this bottled up inside…"

Beca scoffs, glaring at her computer screen like it's personally responsible for all her woes. Most of the office has already left for the night, and they're alone in the big bullpen that the creative staff uses to collaborate in.

(Or, if Beca is to believed, the space where _she_ does the majority of the work for only a fraction of the credit. From what Chloe has seen, it might actually be true.)

"Yeah, well." Even Beca's typing is angry. Stilted and jarring, like every word is a jabbing accusation directed at the world at large. "I _tried_ to tell Aubrey that Bonadero is way out of line, but _someone_ didn't have my back."

The sex was an awful idea, and this is (one of many reasons) why. Beca used to look at Chloe as they sat in their group meetings as if she thought she was an alien. Something that came from somewhere far beyond to disintegrate her world. The enemy.

That was simpler. 

Now she looks at Chloe like an ally that she expects to offer full support. It's hardly reasonable for Beca to expect her to intervene against Aubrey, but since when has common sense mixed well with sex?

"I don't mean that," Chloe says, and her hand settles (briefly) on Beca's shoulder. "I think you know I don't." 

The typing stalls for a moment. It slows, then stutters. Stops.

"… I know."

Beca's hands don't move. 

She doesn't pull away. For a moment, she just… breathes.

Stands.

Walks in the direction of the employee restroom and then casts a look back over her shoulder at Chloe.

Who follows.

She has the key, after all.

\--

A locked door and a willing woman.

What about this is empirically _wrong_ , after all? All the complications will soon be cleared away.

She will fuck Beca Mitchell until Miss Mitchell can hardly stand, and then she will leave her to finish her work, whether she wants to or not. 

Sex will clearly and undeniably _not_ mean special treatment. 

The logic is so cold and calmingly sharp that she can't help but think even Aubrey would have to agree, should she be able to look beyond her own prejudices. 

A testament really to Chloe Beale's level head and sense of fair play. 

\-- 

Speaking of play.

\-- 

She likes Beca's teasing grin and how it wavers with uncertainty. 

They're both completely sober now.

No more excuses or small talk about breakfast staples. 

"Put your hands on the sink." 

She isn't sure why she says it until the exact moment Mitchell turns to comply.

Oh. Yes. 

That's why. That feeling heating up, coiling close to Chloe's cunt when Beca Mitchell, who always has to get another word in, simply (quietly) obeys.

Maybe there are some things even Beca thinks are beyond argument.

(How desperately she wants to be fucked by Chloe apparently being among them.)

\-- 

Still no visible bruises, but there's a smear of lipstick along Beca's shirt collar and Chloe smiles watching her rush to clean it off. 

She wears the panic beautifully. Really brings out the color in her cheeks.

"No one's here to see it," Chloe says, softly. Maybe a part of her really hopes that Beca would wear it the rest of the night. 

"Oh, ha." Or maybe she just wanted to see that smirk again. Have the dry and droll Beca Mitchell charm aimed directly at her. "You're hilarious." 

Chloe grins and wets a paper towel, joining in the effort. "Thanks, I do try."

\-- 

She dabs the paper towel along the line of Beca's shirt, but then settles the fingers close to her pulse. Simply resting.

"You have work to do."

"Yeah." Beca crumples up her own paper towel, but doesn't throw it away.

Chloe holds out her hand to take it, but then leaves her grip clasped on Beca's. "Just get it done, Beca." She feels the tensing against her palm. Feels Beca try to pull away, but doesn't let go. If anything, Chloe's grip grows tighter. "You're better than this. You're better than him. So show me."

\-- 

Chloe couldn't really say where that comes from.

\-- 

Beca isn't some poor misunderstood underdog, after all. Sometimes she can be a bit of a bully. 

There are _other_ members of the creative staff. In fact, Aubrey has been hiring.

But given who directs and sometimes could even be said to dominate the dialogue at company meetings, you might start to think Beca was the only person on the staff with any artistic sensibilities. 

She certainly seems to think so. 

When someone else on staff -- someone, perhaps, who hasn't been with the company as long or doesn't have as many years experience under their belt -- offers a suggestion that isn't in keeping with Beca's own specific stylistic sensibilities, she smirks and sneers.

She offers judgment disguised as suggestion. 

Most of them will never speak up in a meeting again. 

That sort of behavior is almost absurd really, and the only reason worth tolerating it at all is that she is incredibly, naturally talented. 

Hardly under-appreciated or ignored when Chloe can't help but be aware of that talent. 

They need her. Chloe knows that. Beca probably does too.

It's what makes her occasional childish antics so disappointing. If you're old enough for your boss to fuck you in the company bathroom -- though Chloe _guesses_ that might be the kind of thing where age and maturity are infinitely debatable -- then you're certainly old enough to not throw a tantrum over simply being asked to do your _job_.

\--

And apparently Mitchell agrees. 

It's 1am when she sends Chloe a text about completing the assignment. 

Winky face. 

\--

(For a terrible moment of immense stupidity, Chloe considers telling her to come over. That she'll send a cab in exchange for Beca depositing her panties at the doorstep, but.

Well.

Immensely stupid. Clearly.)

\--

 _good_ , she texts back. _i knew u had it n u_.

Winky face.


End file.
